


Four Breaths, Sigh

by fieryphrazes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:30:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieryphrazes/pseuds/fieryphrazes
Summary: One night, Sherlock can't sleep. He seeks out John's calming presence, only to be invited closer than he expected.A short & sweet story about learning to sleep next to someone.





	Four Breaths, Sigh

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you can't sleep & you gotta take an hour to write a quick fic about your favs also being unable to sleep... you know?? 
> 
> Pretty much entirely unedited - so I feel like tenses are weird, typos possible, etc. - if you see something, please say something!
> 
> Not technically a sequel to Little Spoon, but they share a certain spirit. If you enjoy this, you may want to try that one, too!

It was the dead of night when Sherlock opened John’s bedroom door. He was counting on the silent hour and his own stealth to keep John from waking.

 

He slipped in like a shadow, feet silent on the floor, and perched next to the window. Sherlock peeked outside, keeping his distance from a sleeping John. A half-moon lit up the rooftops beyond Baker Street. He glanced back at the bed.

 

Some nights, Sherlock worked through the night. Some nights, he kept himself awake just to test his own limits. But some nights, although he pleaded with his own mind, he just couldn’t fall asleep.

 

This was one of those nights.

 

After hours, tossing and turning, he returned to his touchstone: John. The only problem was that John was unconscious, and would not be at all amenable to waking. Nevermind that, Sherlock thought, his presence is enough. No need to speak to him.

 

Sherlock’s eyes drifted closed as he leaned against the window frame. All his considerable focus turned to John’s even breathing. Every four breaths, a sigh – like clockwork.

 

Until a half-cough sent John spluttering. Sherlock tensed, waiting for him to settle.

 

But he didn’t. Instead, there was a sudden intake of breath – startled, Sherlock’s brain supplied – as John noticed him.

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sherlock said forlornly, warding off the inevitable question, as John hummed a vaguely affirmative reply.

 

Sherlock didn’t stir from the window until he heard John’s joints crack as he stretched out. John turned down the duvet and patted the bed, like he would for a small child who was scared of the dark.

 

“May as well lie down,” he said with a yawn.

 

Sherlock made his way to the bed uneasily. This possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind. But, he thought, John’s calming presence would likely be even stronger up close. Anything for some sleep.

 

Sherlock settled into the bed cautiously. Almost immediately, he began to feel drowsy. Sinking down into the soft pillow, Sherlock sighed and turned back to the window. The curtains were haphazardly drawn, leaving space for moonlight to trail across the floor. Sherlock felt John shifting behind him.

 

But he didn’t expect to feel an arm thrown across his waist, or warm breaths against the back of his neck. Immediately, Sherlock tensed.

 

“Might help you sleep,” John said drowsily. “Always helps me.”

 

Sherlock began the slow and steady work of methodically willing each and every muscle to relax, letting the tension drain out of him as John held him close.

 

Interesting, Sherlock thought. Not what he expected, not even something he’d hoped for.

 

Maybe it was time to adjust his expectations and desires. After all, if John could summarily wrap him up in his arms, then anything might happen…

 

Sherlock’s next conscious thought was annoyance. Annoyance at a blinding light and a parched throat. Then, a moment later, annoyance at an empty bed. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light, Sherlock sat up in John’s bed.

 

Clearly he’d slept through the night. Based on the angle of the sun, that meant nine hours. Nine! Unheard of for Sherlock.

 

He wondered how long John had been awake and gone.

 

Sherlock cautiously descended the stairs, minding the squeaky steps. He found John buttering toast while two mugs of tea steeped on the counter.

 

Sherlock felt a sudden apprehension, looking at John in their kitchen. He sat gingerly at the kitchen table and started thinking.

 

John startled him back to earth by ruffling his hair while setting a plate of toast in front of him.

 

“Tea first,” Sherlock grumbled, and then it appeared, too.

 

“I liked sleeping with you,” John said. Sherlock nearly spit out his tea. John raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

 

“Always sleep better with someone else,” he explained. Sherlock chewed a bite of toast pensively.

 

“I admit it was,” Sherlock searched for the words and settled on, “intriguingly restful.” John huffed out a laugh.

 

“Never known you to sleep more than a few hours,” John said. “Maybe a warm body’s what you need.” Sherlock hummed an agreement.

 

“We could certainly try again,” he said seriously. “Extensive experimentation may be required.”

 

Three nights later, Sherlock arranged a bemused John, placing his limbs just so in the bed.

 

“You know this is all going to hell once we fall asleep, right?” John said. “Bodies just know what to do, sometimes.”

 

Sherlock glared. “Don’t you dare move,” was the terse response.

 

“I’m just saying, based on past experience, I’ll end up being the big spoon no matter what,” John said.

 

“Spoon?” Sherlock mused. “Yes, I see how that works. Nestled together, et cetera.”

 

John smiled and shook his head. “Can we just get on with it, then?” He asked, and Sherlock decided to give in.

 

Later, with John’s arms wound around him, Sherlock wondered why he had resisted. He’d gotten better rest each night, as his body adjusted to the idea of having John nearby. He didn’t need to go muscle by muscle anymore – just one heaving shrug and he was nearly boneless. That is, until a sleepy John pressed a line of kisses across the nape of his neck. Immediately, Sherlock’s entire body flexed, unsure of how to respond.

 

“Oh, calm down,” John said affectionately. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

A few deep breaths, and Sherlock let himself smile.

 

He drifted off to sleep, counting four breaths, sigh, four breaths, sigh, four breaths, sigh, four breaths.


End file.
